


We'll Always Have Kirkwall

by wtgw



Category: Casablanca (1942), Dragon Age, Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Crossover, F/M, Friendship/Love, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtgw/pseuds/wtgw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric was always too suave for his own good.</p><p><i>Dragon Age II</i> oneshot, crossover with <i>Casablanca</i>, written for the k-meme in late 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Always Have Kirkwall

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dragon Age KinkMeme in late 2011. Prompt was for Dragon Age II with Casablanca, the 1942 film directed by Michael Curtiz. I tried to think of the smoothest, suavest motherf••ker in Dragon Age II to play Rick (originally played by Humphrey Bogart), and from there it sort of... snowballed.
> 
> Originally posted here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/6614.html?thread=24317398

Varric met Hawke’s eyes, trying to look past the tears that had gathered there and focus on the life that was still shining through them.  The life he had a chance to save.  “Last night,” she’d said.  He couldn’t let her say anymore.  He couldn’t let her change his mind, because dammit he wanted to, but he just _couldn’t_.  Not this time.  His eyes darted to the boat; Anders was still on it helping Isabela gather what few provisions they could before they could cast off.  Probably forever.  
  
“Last night we said a lot of things, Hawke.  You said I had to do the thinking for both of us. Well, I've done a lot of it since then, and it all adds up to one thing: you're getting on that ship with Anders where you belong.”  
  
“But, Varric, no, I... I...”  
  
“Hawke, you've got to listen to me! You have any idea what you'd have to look forward to if you stayed here? Nine chances out of ten, I’d end up dead and you’d end up Tranquil.”  He shot a look at Fenris. “Ain’t that right, Broody?”  
  
“I'm afraid the Templars would insist.”  The elf smirked, but there was a twinge of sadness to it – of regret.  
  
“You're saying this only to make me go.”  
  
“I'm saying it because it's true, Marian!”  Varric sighed and steadied his voice into that smooth, practiced tone of confidence he’d always used in telling stories.  Stories that usually ended like this.  Maker, he never thought he’d actually have to live through it.    
  
“Inside of us, we both know you belong with Anders. You're part of his work, the thing that keeps him going.  He’d lose himself without you, and you know it.  If that boat casts off and you're not with him, you'll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.”  
  
“But what about us?”  Hawke seemed more like a deer caught in a hunter's sight than a Champion.  
  
“We'll always have Kirkwall. We didn't have it – we lost it for a while.  We got it back when you came to the Hanged Man last night.”  
  
“Varric, when I said I would never leave you,” Marian stammered, her strength sapped and her will shaken by the battle that had raged for hours beforehand.  
  
“You never will.  Don’t worry yourself, sweet cheeks. But I've got myself an awful big story to tell.  And where I'm going, you can't follow.  What I've got to do, you can't be any part of.  Marian, I'm no good at being noble – heck I think I _already_ lost that damned caste ring you found!  But… it doesn’t take a Chantry education to see that the problems of three little people doesn’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that.”  
  
Marian shivered, though from cold or fear or heartbreak he couldn’t tell.  Varric put a hand to her chin and brought her sharp blue eyes back to meet his brown ones.  
  
 “Hey there,” he murmured, honeyed voice like warm liquor sweeping over her for what might be the last time.  “Here's looking at you kid.”  
  
There was a light in Marian’s eyes, a momentary spark that lit when he spoke.  Like the light of the Maker had touched her soul and forgiven her of all her sins.  It was that look that Varric had once wished he could wake up every morning to.  But as Anders approached and Marian turned to look at her lover… her _husband_ … that light only grew brighter.  
  
She really did love him.  That lucky bastard of an abomination.  
  
“Everything is in order,” said Anders, looking between Marian, fidgety and stern, and Varric, casual as ever.  
  
“All except one thing.”  Varric reached into his pocket, pulling out two letters and a beat up pouch.  “Letters are for my contacts in Rivain – you can lie low there for a while, and you can still coordinate the… mage army or whatever it is you’re doing.  Bag is… well, I’m sure even a penniless Darktown healer knows what good coin looks like.”  
  
Anders smiled, but shook his head.  “Varric, I didn’t ask you for anything…”  
  
“Like that’s ever stopped me before,” replied the dwarf with a smirk, handing over the items.  Anders smiled – one of his rare, genuine smiles that hinted at the man he used to be.  “Take it.  Call it a gift.”  
  
“Thanks. I appreciate it. Welcome to the fight, Varric. This time I *know* our side will win.”  A bell rang, the sound distant through the fog of the docks.  “That’s us.  Are you ready, Marian?”  Hawke nodded her assent, but her body lingered, still attached to this city she’d helped rebuild, this man she’d loved.  She could barely turn back to truly look at him, afraid of what his amber eyes would hold.  
  
“Goodbye, Varric.  I…” her voice trailed off.  Varric could think of a thousand romantic lines she could have spouted.  None of them would have been right.  He saved her the trouble.  
  
“You better hurry, Champion – the Templars will be here any minute.”    
  
If his voice cracked a bit on the last few words, no one said anything.  Least of all Marian, who nodded solemnly and turned towards her apostate – her lover – and walked off into the fog and towards freedom.  
  
There were a few minutes of contemplative silence as Varric stood, Bianca in hand, watching as the ship hoisted anchor and prepared to sail.  Fenris finally stood from where he’d been watching with scrutiny.  
  
“Well I was right, Varric,” he said.  “You are a sentimentalist.”  
  
“Stay where you are, Broodypants.  I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“What you just did for the abomi… the _mage_ , and that fairy tale you invented to send Hawke away with him.  I know little about women, my friend, but even I could see she knew you were lying.”  
  
Varric chuckled without mirth.  “Anyway, thanks for helping me out with this.”  
  
“I suppose you know this isn’t going to be pleasant for either of us… especially for you.  Ser Karras,” he almost snorted, “or rather the _new Knight-Commander_ is no doubt already on his way.”  
  
“As soon as their ship sails, Broody.”  
  
Fenris was right.  It was less than a minute before Knight-Commander Karras came marching down the stairs, a squad of Templars trailing in his wake, preoccupied by a group of apostates at another dock.  There were so many now, with the Circle and the Chantry in pieces, it would be impossible to keep track of them all.  
  
“What is the meaning of this?  Knight-Captain Cullen has abandoned his post, we have rogue apostates roaming the streets, what could possibly be so important that…”  
  
“The apostate Anders and the Champion are on that ship,” commented Fenris.  While he obviously held no love for the mages, Karras was not exactly endeared to him either.  
  
“Well why do you stand here? Why didn’t you stop him?”  
  
“Ask the dwarf,” he added with a smirk.  Apparently Karras hadn’t until then noticed the mightily impressive weapon that Varric had poised at the ready.  
  
“I think we’re gonna let them go.  And you?”  Varric tilted his head, though his tone left no room for question.  Knight-Commander Karras narrowed his eyes, his hand drifting towards his sword.  
  
“I would advise you not to interfere.”  
  
“I was willing to shoot Fenris and I like him a lot better than you,” warned Varric, his usually jovial tone turned deadly serious.  
  
“Mage harboring murderer!”  Karras’ hand gripped the hilt of his sword.  
  
“Put the sword down, Knight-Commander.”  
  
Somehow it wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t.  
  
“I said _put it down_ ,” came Varric’s last warning, before Karras hoisted the blade above his head –  
  
 _TWANG!_  
SNAP!  
  
Bianca pierced the Templar’s skull, mimicking the Tranquil brand in what Varric would usually call dramatic irony, but now just looked awkward and horrific.  Blood poured from Karras’ forehead as the body fell to the ground – the second Knight-Commander toppled in a day, and _boy_ the Chantry was just having a tough night.  Fenris did nothing but raise an eyebrow.  Until, of course, the Templars arrived.  
  
Faceless suits of armor ran towards the edge of the docks and, upon seeing the corpse of their late-almost-third-Commander, looked to Fenris (with whom they’d fought alongside only hours earlier) for guidance as one of the newer recruits emptied his stomach over the pier.  
  
“The Knight-Commander's been shot,” spoke the elf.  That much was obvious.  Varric and Fenris exchanged a brief glance, before he spoke again.  “Round up the usual suspects.”  
  
Varric’s face burst out into a full on grin, shaking his head as the Templars marched away in confusion and fear.  Fenris was the first to speak.  
  
“Well, Varric, you’re not only a sentimentalist you’ve become part of this ridiculous Mage Underground.”  
  
“Ridiculous, I know.  But it seemed like a good plot device.  Get things moving, you know?”  Varric stepped towards the body and began to relieve it of its’ valuables.  Karras certainly wouldn’t need those three sovereigns.  He was starting to push the body towards the water when he heard Fenris speak again.  
  
“I think perhaps you’re right.”  
  
Varric looked up in surprise to see the former slave, lyrium veins almost shining in the night, smirking as if at a private joke.  Fenris marched forward and, with a swift kick, sent the body of Knight-Commander Karras tumbling into the sea.  Cleaning their hands of the mess, Varric settled Bianca into her holster and walked with Fenris back down the docks.  
  
“It might be a good idea,” spoke Fenris, “for you to disappear from Kirkwall for a while.  There’s a ship for Tantervale tomorrow morning.  Or Nevarra, if you’re feeling adventurous.”  
  
“Huh.  I could use a trip.  That doesn’t mean you can weasel your way out of debt you know – you still owe me seven pints and at least two thousand sovereigns from Wicked Grace.”  
  
“And that two thousand should pay our expenses for this adventure.” The elf’s smirk was getting more pronounced by the minute, and Varric was more at ease every moment he knew Marian was farther away.  
  
“ _Our_ expenses?”  
  
“Mmhmm,” mumbled the elf.  Varric chuckled, casting a brief glance out to the open ocean.  
  
“Broody, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”


End file.
